


Maid of the Mists

by Severina



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Community: prompt_in_a_box, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-23
Updated: 2016-04-23
Packaged: 2018-06-04 01:32:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6635539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Severina/pseuds/Severina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Belle didn't intend to wander far from the castle, but there are deceptions everywhere -- and the mists have a mind of their own.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Maid of the Mists

**Author's Note:**

  * For [KatLeePT](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KatLeePT/gifts).



> Written for the prompt "mist" at LJ's prompt_in_a_box community. And as a happy belated birthday gift to Katleept!
> 
> * * *

_Stay close to the castle, dearie_. 

That's what he had told her when he agreed to let her go outside to forage. It seemed that her description of how much tastier the meals she cooked would be when enhanced with fresh herbs had enticed him just as she had anticipated. Now Belle only hoped she was able to live up to his expectations.

_Wouldn't want you getting lost out there, would we?_

That's what he had tittered before he waved a hand and sent her with a thought out to the back garden. 

Belle had stumbled and nearly fallen when the firm stone tiles beneath her feet had suddenly been replaced by moist soil. She didn't think she would ever quite get used to being poofed about whenever Rumplestiltskin cackled and put his mind to it. But once the strange sensation of almost being two places at once had abated, she had set her basket at her heels and gotten straight to work. Basil, thyme, oregano… all of it grew in such wild abundance!

And she had truly not intended to wander far from the stone walls. But once she had gathered enough herbs for half a dozen dinners she spotted the bluebells poking their heads out from the carpet of green grass that was beginning to sprout at the edge of the garden. And she was certain there must be a vase buried somewhere in Rumple's mammoth of a kitchen. How delightful an urn overflowing with flowers would look on his imposing table in the great room!

Beyond the bluebells, a quartet of daisies bobbed in the light breeze. She snipped two for her bouquet, and had just stood to brush off her dress when she spotted the hyacinths in the field. Their colours would add just the right touch. And the field was not so far from the castle, after all. 

She wandered awhile among the long grasses, bending occasionally to add more flowers to her growing pile. Lilies, geraniums, violets – it seemed there was no end to the array! And while she picked she thought about how her life had changed in the months since she'd agreed to live with Rumplestiltskin. She knew that there was cruelty in him; his treatment of the thief Robin Hood had shown her that, and she'd barely been with him for two weeks at the time. She often found herself straining her neck to gaze up at the stone gargoyles that jutted imposingly from the parapets, wondering if they were truly people who had challenged the sorcerer Rumplestiltskin and not lived to tell the tale, and then wondered why she was deliberately scaring herself. 

Because there was such good in him, too! He let the thief escape, he gifted her with a room full of books, had conjured her a dress that managed to be both practical and lovely… and perhaps most importantly of all, he did not try to stop her from speaking her mind. Not even when the things she said vexed and irritated him. 

And then there was the way he watched her when he thought she wasn't paying attention. As though she was one of the exotic trinkets he brought back from his journeys. As though he couldn't quite figure her out. But, perhaps, was eager to try.

She found herself looking at him in much the same way.

Belle shook her head as more fanciful notions tried to intrude on her thoughts. Her basket was overflowing and it was near time that she return to the castle, and—

She turned in a circle, eyes wide. At some point in her pursuit of wildflowers she must have wandered into a gulley. The Dark Castle was nowhere to be seen.

She forced her rapidly pounding heart to slow. She merely had to go back the way she came. Her path through the long grass was clearly visible, after all. She retraced her steps hurriedly, snatching a fleeting look up at the sun. It was quickly sinking, and she shivered as a cool mist rose from the ground to brush against her ankles. And extra burst of speed, and… her heart sank. She crested the hill only to find that it let into another valley. And that hill led to another. The mist rose and swirled around her, sinking cool teeth into her bones. 

It occurred to her finally that she had done exactly what Rumplestiltskin had warned against. She was well and truly lost.

* * *

"Belle?"

Rumplestiltskin hesitated outside the closed door to her chamber, his hand still fisted as though to knock. He'd already searched the tower room where he'd installed her library, and halfway to the kitchen his olfactory senses had told him there was nothing brewing in that cold and empty room. He'd looked with his other senses – the ones that capered with the darkness – and found nothing alive in the castle except the mice in the cellars. Her bedchamber was the one room left where the little maid might be, and it was the one room left in the castle that he could not probe with his magic. He owed Belle that much privacy at least. 

Not that he would spy on the girl. No matter how lovely she might be. Or how her eyes sparkled when she found something amusing, or grew dark and intense when she was drawn into one of the stories she devoured from her books. It was likely one of those tales that transfixed her now and led her to forget the time. Or perhaps her trek in the garden had tired her and she had lain down for a nap. He could picture her now, curled upon the bed with her hair fanned out on the pillow, moist red lips parted on an indrawn breath as she dreamed—

Rumplestiltskin blinked, shaking his head. Foolish thoughts! And the longer he stood paralyzed outside her door enabling them, the longer he waited for the forgetful girl to fix his dinner! 

He raised his fist again and knocked briskly, calling out her name. 

No response.

When a second robust rally produced the same result, he straightened his shoulders and slowly opened the door. Peeked his head inside. He found a crisply made bed, a book on the dressing table with a quill bookmark, a shallow bowl of apricots. And no Belle. 

For the first time since discovering that he couldn't find her, Rumplestiltskin felt a shiver of apprehension. If she were not in her room, that could only mean that Belle was _still_ out on the grounds – out where the moon was full, and the creatures of the night who were drawn to the darkness stomped and slithered. 

With a thought Rumplestiltskin transported himself to the back garden. The ground showed signs of her passage, and he followed them with his eyes past the clumps of wild herbs and to the gate half buried under brittle vines. His old heart froze, and for several missing beats he merely stood, unable to force his feet further in fear of what he might find beyond the garden. Then he shook his head and forced himself to proceed. 

The mists parted for their creator with a skittering whisper that spoke of life if not intelligence. Rumplestiltskin had barely to pass the first of the minor deceptions he had wrought in the landscape before he saw her. Belle, safe and whole. The tension that had stiffened both his shoulders and his gait slid away to be swallowed eagerly by the fog.

She stood only two hundred yards beyond the gate, but to the girl trapped in the maze of the mists it would seem like a hundred miles.

Rumplestiltskin stopped at the edge of a field of sparse grass to watch her. Though clearly anxious, she stood with her shoulders straight and her eyes clear. She scanned the distance warily but with determination, unmistakably trying to orient herself in a landscape that had gone cold and white. This was the woman he had glimpsed in his orb months ago, the one who divided her time between frowning over her father's military maps and scouring rare books in her library in search of an answer to her little ogre problem. This was the woman who never gave up despite the odds. This was the reason he chose her to accompany him to the Dark Castle. 

He lifted a hand, waved away the fog that enveloped him and kept him from her sight. "Didn't I warn you not to wander off, dearie?" he called out.

Belle whirled toward him, eyes that had been cool and watchful going wide with surprise. The basket that had been clenched in one fist dropped unheeded to her feet. And then she was rushing toward him, long strides eating up the grass.

She collided with him with such ferocity that he stumbled back, his arms coming up instinctively to wrap around her. She was shivering, her thin chemise no protection against the cool mists that rose each nightfall to protect the castle, and the crown of her head tucked unerringly beneath his chin. He could smell the sweet scent of berries in her hair; feel the rapid beat of her heart. His own sped to meet it. 

"There now," he said. A hand unused to giving comfort for several centuries patted awkwardly at her shoulder. A voice unused to offering it quavered despite his best efforts. "You're all right now."

She must suddenly realize how closely she clung to him, for she quickly stepped back. "Yes," she said, averting her eyes. "I'm… I'm sorry. I didn't mean to—"

Of course. She had touched him in the past; when he had freed the – no, when he had been cursed with the faulty bow and arrow and the thief Robin Hood had _escaped_. She had embraced him impulsively then, and quickly come to her senses when her relief had passed. It was the same now. When a cooler head prevailed, she remembered that she held a monster in her arms.

Still, she had been truly frightened, and monster though he was he would not point out the starkness of her actions. Nor how they chilled his already cold heart.

"You didn't mean to disobey me," he offered as sternly as he was able, "and find yourself lost?"

Belle… flushed. 

Rumplestiltskin cocked his head, eyebrows drawn together as he watched the blush suffuse her pale cheeks. Her fingers twined together restlessly as she took another step back, still avoiding his gaze. Perhaps she had been more unsettled than he first believed? Or – the very thought pained him – perhaps she feared that he would mistake her quick embrace for something unintended and press his suit, compel her to—

He forced back the twist of bile in his throat, waved a hand in irritation to mask the queasiness. "Back to the castle with you!" he declared. "And it will be some time before you leave those halls again, dearie!"

The smoke of his magic enveloped them before she could utter a word, though her eyes flashed quickly to his. He deposited her in her chamber, with the hope that she would understand his inference and remain there for the rest of the evening. He had no wish to look into her eyes and see fear of him there. Not like that. 

A thought and he set her fireplace to light and a hot bath in front of the hearth. Another placed a meal of chicken broth on her dressing table, there to remain warm until she desired it. Warmth to take away the chill of the mists, food to ease her disquiet. And – hopefully – a long sleep to relieve her mind.

His own thoughts were not conquered so easily. 

Three hours at the wheel produced but a handful of gold of such shoddy quality that he wouldn't give it to his worst enemy, of whom there were several vying for the distinction. Another hour bent over his vials resulted in something more akin to cabbage stew than a powerful eavesdropping potion. He paced restlessly through the castle, and it was only upon passing through the silent kitchen that he remembered the herbs that Belle had originally been in search of. 

He whisked the fallen basket to the kitchen table, his brow creasing. His nose could barely make out sage and thyme, buried apparently somewhere beneath the riotous mass of colourful flowers that made up the bulk of the wicker container. _This_ was what she had wandered away for, had nearly been swallowed up in the mists for? This is what had had caused the worry and anxiety that had him unable to work, unable to concentrate, wandering the castle and wearing out the heels on his boots? This pathetic basket of wildflowers?

He lifted a hand to smite them; lowered it slowly when the image came of Belle traipsing through the field, stopping only when a particular hue or shape appealed to her. He saw her pale fingers snipping the stem carefully; saw her smile as the basket grew heavier and more overflowing with colour, scent, life. 

And instead of engulfing the flowers in flame, Rumplestiltskin found himself drawing an ornate and priceless vase from his collection of items from Camelot and setting it on the table. Saw himself, as though in a dream, filling the vase with water from the pump and arranging the flowers carefully within. He thought for a moment, then transported the vase and its contents to his little maid's bedside table.

Belle would see it when she awoke.

He nodded to himself before returning to his spinning wheel. And if the gold he produced in the next few hours was of an excellence that he had not seen in years, he put it down to a renewed application of his skill. Nothing more than that.


End file.
